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Full text of "To The Lighthouse"


looking at each other for a moment, had a sense of
escape and exaltation, what with the speed and the
change. But the breeze bred in Mr. Ramsay too
the same excitement, and, as old Macalister turned
to fling his line overboard, he cried aloud,
" We perished," and then again, " each alone."
And then with his usual spasm of repentance or
shyness, pulled himself up, and waved his hand
towards the shore.

" See the little house," he said pointing,
wishing Cam to look. She raised herself reluc-
tantly and looked. But which was it? She could
no longer make out, there on the hillside, which
was their house. All looked distant and peaceful
and strange. The shore seemed refined, far away,
unreal. Already the little distance they had sailed
had put them far from it and given it the changed
look, the composed look, of something receding in
which one has no longer any part. Which was
their house? She could not see it.

" But I beneath a rougher sea,7' Mr. Ramsay
murmured. He had found the house and so seeing
it, he had also seen himself there; he had seen
himself walking on the terrace, alone. He was
walking up and down between the urns; and he
seemed to himself very old, and bowed. Sitting
in the boat he bowed, he crouched himself, acting
instantly his part—the part of a desolate man,